


You had me at 'goodbye'

by feyrelay



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst, Avengers: Endgame (Movie) Spoilers, Barebacking, Butt Plugs, Cheating, Clothed Sex, Flash Fic, Infidelity, M/M, No Underage Sex, Not Happy, Peter is 18, Post-Avengers: Endgame (Movie), Selfish Sex, Sneaking Around, Tony Stark Lives
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-30
Updated: 2019-06-30
Packaged: 2020-05-30 22:44:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,028
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19412932
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/feyrelay/pseuds/feyrelay
Summary: Short & not so sweet. Tony Stark, genius-billionaire-philanthropist-family man.[Fills my Tony Stark bingo square S1: "Peter Parker/Spider-Man"]





	You had me at 'goodbye'

They absolutely do not fuck in Morgan's bed. Tony flatly refuses, even when they really don't have much of an option. Pepper is out in the garden with the little princess herself, while Peter and Tony have been tasked with putting up new shelves for her ever-increasing collection of stuffed animals. There's a joke in there somewhere about 'getting nailed' or Tony being in charge of 'screwing' things in, but Peter doesn't make it. They don't have time.

They fuck on the floor, instead.

It's sensible, pragmatic. It keeps them low to the ground, out of obvious sight if Pepper happens to walk by the window. It's frantic and it scratches an itch, both figuratively and literally as Tony's ministrations cause Peter's back to inch along Morgan's scratchy, pink rug.

Peter almost tries to hold Tony back. Sure, he'd made the trek out here with a plug fitted in his ass, extraneous lubricant sliding between his cheeks. He'd spent the whole ride out surreptitiously shifting in his seat, trying to keep himself from leaking lube and precome into Tony's favorite boxer-briefs. He'd been ready, aware that they'd have very little time alone, as usual.

So, really, he should be fine, he should be with the program when Tony lays him out and puts his kneeling knees under Peter's to help him spread himself open. Peter shouldn't be putting a bare foot on Tony's wrist to stop the older man from unbuttoning his jeans and leaning forward.

Peter worries his lip between his teeth, resisting the urge to bite down or gasp or do something equally stupid at the hot, intense look he gets from Tony. "You alright, baby? C'mon, we gotta hurry."

Peter nods slowly. He doesn't remove his foot, toes curling against Tony's wiry arm hair. "Tell me you love me."

Tony huffs a tender laugh, even as he shakes Peter's foot off and reaches out instead to work the plug out of Peter's hole. "Of course I love you."

But Peter's shaking his head, as much from the mixed signal of it all as from the sudden, clenching emptiness. "What do you mean, 'of course'. You say that like it's obvious, like I should know."

Tony doesn’t answer right away, and appears to put all of his consternation at such a statement into his first thrust. He buries half his length inside Peter and they both gasp. Peter doesn't want to cry, even though he also, very much, _does_ want to cry. It's just that it might seem like a come on, just now.

"You-" Tony cuts in, gutting the words out even as he holds Peter at the hips and pulls the younger man onto his cock, jerking forward with every word, "... should know. You'd have to, sweetheart."

"Why?" Peter manages on a shaky exhale. His jeans are still half-hanging on one shin, sliding along the bone with the violence of how Tony's fucking into him.

Tony puts a hand on Peter's cock like that's an answer, like this is all they are to each other, like these little infractions could possibly contain the desperation with which they cling to each other, now, after everything that happened.

"I remade the world for you."

Tony says this, breathing it into Peter's mouth with their faces so close Peter can feel the vibration of every vowel and the little gust of air on that final, endearing plosive.

Somewhere, Morgan is laughing.

Peter lets it continue, but even he can admit it's not a hardship. It's not a chore. There has never been a time when having Tony Stark's attention, much less his glorious cock, hasn't been exactly what Peter craved.

He tries to do his part, to arch up into it, to fuck Tony's fist with as much vigor as Tony is fucking Peter's ass, but they've always been competitive. Cutthroat, even, with each other. Tony's always been his hero and his antagonist rolled into one.

Peter can't decide if this rough pace is kind or not. He can't decide if it matters because the quick, lightning drag of Tony filling him up, over and over again is good, he knows it's good, he knows he'd be hard-pressed to find better. Does it matter if this is cruel, if it makes him come?

Does it matter that the choice is always between Morgan's bed and the floor, and not a space of their own? Does it matter that the choice is between whether Peter wants to be gagged or if he thinks he can stay quiet, and not the option of shouting and panting his orgasm when it hits him?

Tony skids against Peter's prostate on a particularly well-timed thrust and Peter stops caring. He whines and Tony puts a hand over his mouth, groaning. Peter licks at the salt-trace in Tony's palm, just to remind himself of where he is and who he's with.

As if he could forget.

Peter pulls back, making Tony pause (but not stop, never stop), and scoots forward to maneuver over onto his hands. Tony shifts Peter's hips up and towards him and barely misses a beat, renewing his rhythm inside Peter's body like it belongs to him. (It does.)

Peter hopes the rug burns Tony’s knees the same way it’s burning his cheek, before he remembers that Tony hadn’t really taken off his pants. He hadn’t bothered; he did just enough to get his dick out.

They don't use condoms because who else would Peter fuck? He doesn't do this because he needs cock, he does this because he needs Tony. And Tony, well. He's a married man, he can't be going out and buying condoms. The consequence of that is that Tony's hot length burns at Peter's rim, almost as much as the carpet skinning Peter's face.

Tony comes inside him, pouring salt in the wound. Peter feels it in the back of his throat, like the feeling before a good cry.

Peter waits, so good and patient and not willing to stain Morgan's space where she plays. He knows Tony will suck him off later, will swallow him down, will make it alright.

After all, he loves him.


End file.
